A prolonged silence.

'Do you--' began the Babe at last.

'Tell me--' began Miss Beezley, simultaneously.

'I beg your pardon,' said the Babe; 'you were saying--?'

'Not at all, Mr MacArthur. _You_ were saying--?'

'I was only going to ask you if you played croquet?'

'Yes; do you?'

'No.'

'Ah!'

'If this is going to continue,' thought the Babe, 'I shall be
reluctantly compelled to commit suicide.'

There was another long pause.

'Tell me the names of some of the masters at St Austin's, Mr
MacArthur,' said Miss Beezley. She habitually spoke as if she were an
examination paper, and her manner might have seemed to some to verge
upon the autocratic, but the Babe was too thankful that the question
was not on Browning or the higher algebra to notice this. He reeled off
a list of names.